Band of Gold
by J Elise
Summary: Molly and Sherlock are both in bad relationships. But is all what it seems when Sherlock intends to get married? Anti-Janine. Sherlolly all the way. Warning: Contains domestic abuse issues.
1. Voices Carry

**Author's Note: I don't own Sherlock. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC do. So don't sue.**

 **This started out as a daydream whilst I was bored during class and is slowly turning itself into a story. It is heavily Sherlolly and anti-Janine. If you don't like it, don't read it. But if you do decide to give it a chance, please review and let me know what you think. More chapters to come :)**

 **Song Suggestion: Voices Carry by Til Tuesday**

* * *

 _Sherlock. It's always about Sherlock._

Tears fell down Molly's face as her favorite vase went whizzing past her head, busting open on the wall behind her. She honestly didn't know what she'd done to deserve such treatment, but the man before her was livid.

"Are you even listening to me?" Her fiancé demanded.

"You know I am." She intoned, as flatly as if she were speaking to a corpse. She was way past the point of trying to appear attentive. Instead, she stared blankly ahead, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Then, answer me dammit! You're still helping him aren't you?!"

The pathologist knew there was no clear way to respond to that question without angering the man further. The only thing left to do was tell the truth – or, at least as much of it as he could handle.

"I told you I haven't seen him in weeks." The poor woman rasped. "We barely speak these days. He's so busy getting ready for John's wedding."

She wasn't lying exactly. Sherlock had been so preoccupied with fulfilling his duties as best man that she'd hardly seen him. The wedding was next week, and already she shuddered at being in such close proximity to the two blowhards who seemed to be competing for her with rapidly growing hostility.

"If you haven't been talking to him, then how do you know what he's up to? After everything he's done, why are you still keeping on with him?"

"After all this time - how can you not trust me?"

"How can you expect me to when he's texting your phone at all hours of the night?!"

"It was just that one time." Molly pleaded, trying to be the voice of reason. "And I never answered. You know how demanding he is. I dare say he's as bad as you."

The sharp crack across her face brought the pathologist crashing back to reality. She immediately felt the split from Sherlock's voice telling her not to make jokes. Apparently she was bad at it.

"You should have made your position clear from the beginning." Ethan roared.

"How can I when it's clear that you're making it for me?" Molly argued, giving as good as she got. "I come home to you every night. The only other place I go is work. Isn't that enough for you? I don't go to Baker Street. Not even for a consultation. I ignore as many calls as I can."

"It's just that you never tell me anything!" Ethan whispered dangerously, finally lowering his voice. "I hardly see you anymore."

Molly huffed in frustration. As a couple, they had gone from "what are we going to do tonight?" to "You're spending entirely too much time at the lab. With Sherlock."

"You want to know something?" Molly entreated. "Sherlock may have his moods and his methods, but so do you. Maybe worse even. You're always stalking me, going through my phone, scanning my texts, rummaging through my things... I fancy you two deserve each other, eh?"

Ethan recoiled as if he'd been the one who'd gotten slapped. But Molly didn't care. Before he could take another step, she backed up into the entryway of her room, intent on slamming the door in his face.

Ethan noticed, and calmed himself accordingly. The last thing he wanted to have to do was break down the door. For one thing, it would attract too much attention.

"Please listen to me Molly." He atoned. "I wouldn't have to do all those things if you didn't ignore me half the time. You know I'm not him. I never will be. And I resent the comparison."

"For Heaven's sake! I don't want you to be Sherlock! I love you for you. Not for who you're trying to compete with. What more can I possibly do to prove it to you?"

Apparently Ethan knew exactly what she could do. "Tell him to fuck off then." He urged. "I mean it Molly. I know you've been helping him out behind my back. And I'm sure your supervisor would find it very interesting to know all the privileges your precious little detective's been getting under the table."

"I'm not quite sure what you're implying." She lied, wishing she wasn't.

"Then let me spell it out for you." He replied. "Stop helping him. Stop leading him on. And stop letting him shag you on the side for extra favors."

"Ethan!" Molly was truly shell shocked. Although she knew better now, there had been a time when she'd thought this man was actually the one. He'd been so sweet – treating her like a princess. And now here he was accusing her of whoring herself out in a one sided relationship.

Molly smiled sadly to herself. Perhaps it wasn't entirely inaccurate. She'd do anything that Sherlock asked of her. Even now. Only she wouldn't let him get the better of her. Not like this...

It seemed strange that Sherlock should know her any better than her own fiance. But that wasn't saying much. Ethan was about as observant as a blindfolded mole, and Sherlock was only observant with her when he had to be. Nice when he wanted something. Cheeky when he wanted her out of the way.

Perhaps she'd be better off without the two of them. But it was too late for that. She was already in way over her head. There was just no way she could live without Sherlock. Then again, there was no way she could live **with** him either. So she made up for it in the only way she knew how.

If Molly were being honest with herself, she would have acknowledged that she never really loved Ethan. She was more than he deserved. But he was also the only man who would look twice at her after Tom had left. And she didn't think she'd ever get another chance to be engaged.

Besides, she couldn't very well spend the rest of her life moping after Sherlock. Nor would she.

So, this was the way things had to be.

 _Just for now._


	2. The Sweetest Thing

**Authors Note: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the character. Mark Gattis, Steven Moffat, and the BBC have the rights to Sherlock the series. So don't sue.**

 **Song Suggestion: The Sweetest Thing – U2**

Sherlock fidgeted in his tuxedo while the wedding photographer documented the happy couple exiting the wedding chapel. Beside him, one of the bridesmaids – the one who had accompanied him down the aisle - was babbling away cheerfully. Though about what, he couldn't say.

The words "No sex, okay?" brought him out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry, what?" The preoccupied detective snapped.

"You don't have to look so scared." The girl replied. "I'm only messing. Bridesmaid…Best Man…it's a bit traditional."

"Is it?" He scoffed.

"But not obligatory." She amended, noting the look on his face.

He'd been too busy staring at Molly and her new beau to pay the woman standing next to him any attention. Not that it mattered, but there was a strange feeling he just couldn't shake with Molly as of late. And all the deductions in the world weren't giving him a clue as to what it was.

He'd never had this problem before. Emotions were obviously a waste of time. Particularly his. But now they seemed to get in the way of everything.

 _Stick to the facts man,_ he chided himself. _What do I know for certain?_

For one thing, Molly was avoiding him. For another, she was wearing more makeup than usual. Okay so, this was a wedding, and people dressed to the nines – but, this Ethan fellow was downright obsessive about looking smart at all times. It stood to reason, he'd put Molly through the same rigid standards.

The last time she'd worn that much makeup was to attract him, but seeing as how that ship had sailed, perhaps it was because she was trying to keep Ethan interested instead. It seemed though, that it was all for the sake of appearance.

Just look at the way he got Molly to pose for the camera by awkwardly sidestepping a kiss, which any sane man would appreciate. She **was** laying it on rather thick – as if she had something to prove. But, if the bulge in Ethan's right pocket suggested anything, he was either really happy with her, or else carrying something that Sherlock hoped to God he would keep hidden. One wedding was quite enough for this century.

Rather than entertain such thoughts any further, he turned his attention back to the bridesmaid in an effort to find someone else for her to talk to. Unfortunately, none of the men present were much help in that department. All his deductions laid them bare, whilst she prattled on, seemingly impressed by his abilities.

"Can I keep you?" The woman laughed.

The question didn't shock him. He seemed to have that effect on the opposite sex.

"Do you like solving crimes?" He countered.

"Do you have a vacancy?" She grinned.

Instead of answering, his eyes involuntarily flicked back to Molly. He remembered all too well how she had assisted him during the Case of the Empty Hearse while helping to prevent a major terrorist attack. If he had to pick, he'd much rather have the pathologist in his possession rather than this Janine person.

"Excuse me." Sherlock interrupted, again trying to find a way to be rid of her for a bit. Luckily, Mycroft provided a welcome distraction. And that was saying something, because he detested his brother about as much as he detested weddings.

"Yes, what Sherlock?" His brother gasped as he answered his phone.

"Why are you out of breath?" The detective demanded.

"Filing." Came the flippant answer.

Sherlock didn't buy it. Nor could he pass up the opportunity to match wits. "Either I've caught you in a compromising position or you've been working out. Favour the latter."

"What do you want?"

I need your answer Mycroft. It's a matter of emergency."

"Answer? For what?"

Sherlock's eyes rolled Heavenward. Of course his brother would forget the importance of today.

"Even at the eleventh hour it's not too late you know. Cars can be ordered. Private jets commandeered."

Realization dawned on Mycroft. "So this is it then: the big day. I suppose I'll be seeing you a bit more from now on. A bit like old times, then."

"I don't understand." Sherlock feigned.

"Well, it's the end of an era isn't it? John and Mary? Domestic bliss?"

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and wondered why Molly was the one who appeared before him in his mind palace, rather than his partner in crime.

"No. No I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new chapter." There was silence on the other end.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"Nothing…"

"I know that silence. **What** _?_ " He asked again. Sharper this time.

"Well I better let you get back to it. You have a big speech or something don't you?"

 **"MYCROFT!"**

"This is what people **DO** Sherlock. They get **married.** I warned you. Don't. Get. Involved."

"Involved? I'm not involved." Sherlock denied. "John asked me to be his best man. How could I say no?"

The platitudes on the other end of the line hinted that John was not who Mycroft was referring to. Sherlock, however, remained oblivious.

"I believe you. Really I do. Have a lovely day and do give the happy couple my best. Enjoy not getting involved Sherlock."

The detective huffed as he snapped his phone shut. Mycroft was right about one thing. He did have a big speech to give. Better to ignore his brother now than to spend time worrying about what would never be.

As the glasses clinked, signaling for him to stand, he pushed everything to the side in order to be the best man John deserved.

Unfortunately, he was having a rather rough go of it.

"Big squishy cuddles"…"oodles of love"…"pop-pet"… _do I really have to say this out loud?_

One look at Molly's half smile and he found himself skipping ahead to…"heaps of best wishes…love, love, love…you get the gist. People are basically fond."

In an attempt to salvage his emotional blunder, he turned the focus to where it needed to be.

"John. My friend: John Watson…"

Without missing a beat, he told the story as to how John had approached him to be his best man.

"When John first broached the subject, I was a bit confused. I explained to him I never expected this request and was a bit daunted in the face of it. I then promised I would do my very best to accomplish a task which, for me, was as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally I thanked him for the trust he placed in me and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being moved by it. It later transpired that I'd said none of this out loud."

Before Sherlock could stop himself, he stole yet another glance at Molly. He'd never told her anything out loud either – not in so many words, and never without an insult. Maybe that's why her gaze was currently directed at her lap.

Instead of venturing a few more guesses as to why, he chose his next words carefully.

"I'm afraid John I can't congratulate you."

Notably, he turned his face from the groom to the object of his frustration. Only then did she raise her eyes, meeting his gaze dead on, as he came up with the best apology he could muster.

"All emotions…in particular love…stand opposed to the pure cold reason I put above all things. A wedding is in my considered opinion nothing short of a celebration that is: false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world…" He was going to leave it at that, but his brain couldn't keep up with his wagging tongue. After insulting half the wedding party, he caught himself saying:

"The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous…Unaware of the beautiful…And uncomprehending in the face of the happy…"

He only had eyes for Molly now - trying to convey his regret that they had no future together, and celebrating her newfound happiness (if you could call it that).

Only then did he turn back to the object of his speech.

"So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it's because I never expected to be anybody's best friend. John, you should know this. Today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short - the two people who love you most in this world. And I know I speak for Mary when I say that we will never let you down and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

The tears were welling up now, as he noticed Molly, in particular, grab a napkin off the table to dab at her eyes. He had spoken those last words for her benefit, but something was lost in translation.

Not that it mattered. The next thing he knew John was hugging him, and the world was as it should be.

For now.


	3. Suspicious Minds

**Author's Note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the characters. Mark Gattis, Steven Moffat, and the BBC own the rights to Sherlock the series. So don't sue.**

 **Song Suggestion: Suspicious Minds – Elvis**

Molly dabbed at the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes. Sherlock's speech was nothing short of a miracle. Although much of it was (of course) directed at John, in some way she felt he was talking about her as well. In so many words, the brilliant mastermind had expressed that he was too much of an asshole to be happy with her, nor could he see her happy with anyone else. But he would, if at all possible, be there for her because he held her in much the same esteem as his partner in crime.

Maybe she was reading too much into things. Was the scrutinizing detective finally backing off and allowing her the happiness she so deserved? And what's more, did she really want him to?

Stealing a smile at Ethan, she placed her hand on his knee – only for him to take the appendage and press it to his lips. Her boyfriend was in rare form today. She'd never seen him so attentive. It was almost disconcerting, like he had some big secret she knew nothing about.

If only he were this attentive all the time. Sherlock too, for that matter.

But, as much as she tried to ponder these things in peace, Ethan was already busy breaking her visions of bliss. While Sherlock launched into a list of the duo's more notable cases, Ethan was busy one-upping the detective, whispering candid answers into Molly's ear. Answers, that appeared to evade everyone else.

 _How_ _ **did**_ _that elephant fit into such a tiny apartment?_ Clearly, it was a recording.

 _Why_ _ **would**_ _a decathlete surround himself with thousands of empty matchboxes?_

Clearly something was hidden in one of them.

And then, the kicker: _How_ _ **was**_ _a particular soldier taken out by an invisible assailant?_ Clearly, he stabbed himself.

Exactly what the man was trying to prove, Molly had no idea. There was no point in his actions except to prove himself smarter than the smartest man she'd ever had the misfortune to meet.

A raised eyebrow was the only indication that said man considered the couple at all – that is until Ethan's voice unwittingly reverberated around the room.

"Of course he stabbed himself! It's so obvious!"

"Hello! Who was that?" Sherlock stopped, looking around pointlessly before zeroing in on Molly's date. "Ah! Ethan. Got a theory?"

"Yes." He declared, standing rather boldly.

Please…" Sherlock invited, smirking as the man stood up to confront him at his own game. Or try to anyway…

"Well, the way I see it, it appears to be an attempted suicide. Done with a dagger made of some sort of bone, perhaps? Something easily breakable, easily hidden, and unrecognizable apart from the human body. He must have snuck the weapon in and disposed of it before anyone else could take note."

"A bone dagger?" Sherlock parroted, trying not to appear too smug.

It was as if the two were having a pissing contest and Molly was the poor woman caught in the middle. Coincidentally, she was growing more embarrassed by the second. Firmly taking her lover's hand back into her own, she pulled the appendage firmly back against her, silently pleading with the man to sit down and mind his manners.

As usual, she was totally ignored except for an icy look that meant she would very well pay for that mistake later.

Instead of acknowledging the cold fear at the prospect of such an event, she let her mind drift back to Sherlock's speech – which continued on regardless of the interruption. This conjured up a much happier memory for her to concentrate on: Sherlock's stag party.

She had been in such a good mood that day. Ethan hadn't rowed with her in weeks, and Sherlock was treating her like an actual human being for once. As the detective detailed the events in his own way, she replayed the conversation they'd had over and over in her head. If only she hadn't chickened out, trying to save face rather than being saved.

"Murder scenes?" _The words popped right out of her mouth as soon as Sherlock had uttered them._ "You want locations of murders?"

"Pub crawl. Themed." _He'd revised, gazing at her intently._

"Why can't you just do underground stations?" _She'd wondered aloud, seeing as how it would make more sense._

 _Of course his answer would be:_ "It lacks the personal touch," _As if that somehow explained everything… "_ You see, we're going to go for a drink in every street where we…"

"Found a corpse. Delightful." _She'd chirped, cutting him off._ _Clearly he was off his rocker._ "Where do I come in?" _As if she'd really wanted to know…_

"Well, we wouldn't want to get ill. It would ruin things. Spoil the mood."

"You're a graduate chemist." _She'd reminded him._ "Can't you just work it out?"

"I lack the practical experience." _He admitted, adding insult to injury._

"Meaning you think I like a drink?" _Her eyes narrowed dangerously at the insinuation._

"Occasionally." _Now he was backtracking…_

"That I'm a drunk?" _Sure, it stood to reason he would see her as being inferior, but it didn't make the implication hurt any less. Did he really still see her as a sloppy, simpering lightweight?_

"No." _The detective answered before the insult finally sunk in._ " **No!** " _He'd tried again, seemingly flabbergasted. The poor man never apologized. He must really be desperate._

 _With an abrupt subject change, Sherlock tried turning on the charm to get her to cowtow. The effect was not lost on her. "You look…well."_

"I am." _She agreed, having the presence of mind to lie through her teeth, whilst she wondered how much longer they could keep being civil._

"How's…Tom, is it?" _The look of concentration was priceless. She had to admit it was rather refreshing to see him so out of his element as he forced them both to make small talk._

"Ethan." _She'd corrected, making a quick face he couldn't quite catch. As much as she didn't particularly want to talk about her new beau, the pathologist couldn't help but take pleasure in reminding Sherlock about her new relationship – however dysfunctional it may be._

"Right! Ethan." _He'd exclaimed, as if he'd known it all along._ "How is…?"

"Not a sociopath." _Yet…_

"Still? Good." _He nodded awkwardly._

"And we're having quite a lot of sex."

"Ookay…."

 _The struggle for pleasantries ended there, but Molly had had her fun. Sherlock, on the other hand, had braved enough polite conversation for one day. Now it was time for the pathologist to pay up for rendering him speechless._

"I want you to calculate John's ideal intake and mine. We want to remain in the sweet spot the whole evening. Lightheaded good."

"Urinating in wardrobes bad. Got it."

 _So what if she'd tampered with the alcohol levels a bit?_ _No one would suspect it, and she'd finally get a bit of revenge for the hell he'd put her through over the past few years._

 _Ethan had been kept in the dark about the detective's line of questioning, and her little experiment, but what's done was done, and she was free to do as she wished from now on._

 _If only the same could be said for Sherlock…_

 _He had always been a victim of his own mind, and he could only act in accordance with it. Everything else was irrelevant._

 _Including her._

 _Oh who was she kidding?_

 _ **Especially her.**_

His next words were evidence enough of that…


	4. Don't Fear The Reaper

**Author's Note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the characters. Mark Gattis, Steven Moffat, and the BBC own the rights to Sherlock the series. So don't sue.**

 **P.S. - So far this story has stuck loosely to the script from The Sign Of Three. After this chapter, the storyline will depart more from the canon, while still putting** **a spin on the rest of the episodes in season 3. The Bottom line is that I won't just rehash each episode, I will reinvent it in some way. That's the intent anyway. Enjoy!**

 **Song Suggestion: Don't Fear The Reaper – Blue Oyster Cult**

* * *

"Let's play a game. Let's. Play. Murder."

Sherlock brought his hands to his mouth, folding them in what should have been a reverent prayer worthy of his mind palace. Unfortunately, it was anything but. Two slaps to the face from his mental Mycroft, and he was once again sober and focused. Though a little worse for wear. Public speaking did that to a person...

"Let's say someone's going to get murdered at this wedding. Who exactly would you pick?" He asked his audience, most of whom had stopped listening.

"I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear." Mrs. Hudson answered in an irritating fashion. While it drew a laugh from the crowd, it was not a welcome comment. Was he the **only** one taking himself seriously?

"Could someone move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach? That would be lovely." He spat, continuing on with his speculations unperturbed.

"More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?"

The detective continued narrowing down the list of guests/victims only to get distracted by too many "jokes". _Jokes about John apparently..._ How quickly he recovered himself, catching up with a train of thought that was running away with him.

"Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues." He rambled on. "Now **John,** I poison. Easy. Dead easy. Give him chemicals and compounds, he'd never even notice. Missed a whole Wednesday once, and didn't have a clue. **Lestrade** is so easy to kill it's a miracle no one's succumbed to the temptation. And as for my brother, I've got a pair of keys to his house. I could easily sneak in …affixiate him….

The strange looks he was getting from some of the other guests made it all the more tempting to affixiate them. "If the whim arose…"

A movement caught the corner of his eye. Someone slamming their drink down. Not important except it came from the vicinity of Molly's table. Perhaps she was finally putting her date out of his misery. _Well, that would just be icing on the cake, wouldn't it?_

"Once again, ladies and gentlemen, who could you only kill here?" He was thinking out loud now, regardless of who answered. "Clearly, it's a rare opportunity, so it's got to be someone who doesn't get out much…someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is the exception to the rule. As it stands, killing someone in public is difficult, but killing them in private isn't an option. So it's got to be someone who is either inaccessible or lives in an unknown location…

"Someone private perhaps…"

"Someone obsessed with personal security…"

"Possibly someone under threat…"

"A recluse…with a small household staff…"

"High turnover rates for additional security…"

Probably forced them all to sign confidentiality agreements…"

 _There! HIM._

 **IT'S YOU.**

Sherlock studied the intended victim's expression as he read the note the detective slipped him. _Major James Sholto._

"There's another question that remains, however – a very important one." He plowed on, without missing a beat. "A big one. Huge, in fact. How would you do it? How would you kill someone in public? There has to be a way. This has to have been planned…

There it was again. People muttering theories under their breath when all at once a voice called out high above the others.

"Mr Holmes! Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock swung around at the mention of his name. "Oh Hello again Archie. What's your theory?" He asked, making it a point not to noticeably roll his eyes. "Get this right and there's a headless nun in there for you."

"The invisible man could do it." Archie declared.

 _Invisible…Be more specific..._ "The who the what the why the when the where?"

"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the guardsman."

 ** _AHA!_**

 _Not just planned….planned and rehearsed…_

 _Same case. Same motive. Same murder._

 _Both right before his very eyes…_

 _Just to see if they could get away with it._

 _ **This charade ended now.**_

"Ladies and Gentlemen there will now be a short interlude. TO THE BRIDE AND GROOM!" He cheered, letting the din cover his next words to John.

"Major Sholto is going to be murdered. I don't know how or by whom but it's going to happen."

John didn't need to be told twice. Nor did Mary. A quick peck to the lips ended their revelrie, as they both hurried away, chasing after Sherlock through the crowd.

After a quick minute arguing over hotel numbers, the trio made it to the Major's room just in time.

"Major Sholto? MAJOR SHOLTO!" Sherlock all but battered the door down.

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it wouldn't be the first time. I'm ready." The man spoke, resigning himself to his fate.

John, for his part tried to reason with his colleague, while Mary took the more practical approach. "Kick the door down!"

But Major Sholto was ready for her too. "I really wouldn't do that. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

"You're not safe in there." Sherlock pleaded. "Whoever is after you, we know that a locked room won't stop him."

"What?" Sholto scoffed. "The invisible man with the invisible knife, is it?"

"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop it. But if he can, he'll do it again." Sherlock warned.

Solve it then." Sholto challenged. "Tell me how to get at him and I'll open the door."

"Sorry?"

"SOLVE IT. You're the famous Mr. Holmes! SOLVE the CASE. On you go."

"Please this is no time for games. Let us in, you're in danger." John demanded. Though it did little good…

"So are you as long as you're here. Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collatoral damage."

"SOLVE IT." Mary entreated Sherlock once more. "Solve it and he'll open the door like you said."

Sherlock, though, felt more and more stifled. As if all four walls were closing in on him at the same time. "I couldn't solve it before, how could I solve it now?

"Because it MATTERS now!" The bride cried.

"What? What are you talking about?" Sherlock spun from Mary back to John, hoping for his help. "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."

"Mary's right." John stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh you've changed." _Maybe Mycroft was right…marriage did change things._

"No, she IS. Now SHUT UP. You are NOT a puzzle solver, and you never have been. You're a DRAMA QUEEN. Now there is a man in there about to die. The game is ON Sherlock! **SO SOLVE THE BLOODY CASE!"**


	5. You Keep Me Hanging On

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the characters. Mark Gattis, Steven Moffat, and the BBC own the rights to Sherlock, the series. So don't sue.**

 **Song Suggestion: Keep Me Hanging On - Kim Wilde (or original version by The Supremes)**

* * *

"He can solve his own bloody case." Ethan complained, loudly. "Did you see the way he just dismissed me? Like I was nothing?"

"You get used to it." Molly admitted, not unkindly.

"Maybe **you're** used to it by now, but I'm certainly not. I don't deserve such treatment at all. The **nerve**! He's half the scientist I am!"

Molly almost chuckled at her date's observations. Believe it or not, she knew how it felt to be looked down upon by the arrogant detective. Still, she was hard pressed to find a way to justify those actions without seeming sweet on him. "That's just Sherlock being…well…Sherlock." She tried to explain. "For all his intelligence, he has no way of controlling it. I feel sorry for him, really. It's like he's a slave to his own mind at times.

"Well I don't like it. Not one bit. But as long as he keeps his mind off of you, I'll try to be civil. For your sake."

Molly was shocked. Sure, Ethan had his ups and downs. But he was always so consistent when it came to Sherlock. Was it just the fact that they were at a wedding? Or was he baiting her to test her loyalties? Either way, placating him seemed the obvious choice.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. He barely knows I exist." _At least not when he's on a case,_ The pathologist amended. _Even after that speech he gave, he would still steer clear of her unless he needed something. That was just the way they operated._

"Humph! Better not to exist than to be harassed by someone completely unworthy of your time and talents." Ethan mused.

The irony wasn't lost on Molly. Perhaps her boyfriend was right…but who was more unworthy? The man she was in love with, or the man who was in love with her?

"I so wish you two could get along." Molly mused out loud, taking her chances with Ethan's good mood. Evidently, she'd hit the jackpot.

"I'll try, Molls. I really will. I'd do anything for you, Love. I hope you know that."

Again, poor Molly was thrown. This was the first time Ethan had ever come close to confessing his undying love for her. She really had no idea what to make of this drastic new attitude change. But she certainly hoped it stuck.

Realizing just in time that he was still waiting for her answer with baited breath, she acknowledged him with an "I do." Feeling both reluctant and relieved at the same time.

Thankfully "I Do." was exactly the answer Ethan wanted to hear. "Oh Molly!" He fawned. "You should be happy! Today of all days! Let's just forget about Sherlock, eh? Everyone's headed to the dancehall. Come and accompany me."

Only Molly didn't want to accompany him. Nor did she want to forget. She wanted to know where the hell the wedding party was. As of right now, they were nowhere to be found and she had a sneaking suspicion that something was going on apart from the wedding.

 _A case perhaps? Surely they couldn't be taking wedding pictures – not with the way the three of them had run out of the room, like bloodhounds on a scent. In all the hubbub, she had to admit she was feeling a bit left out. She still considered herself part of the team – and apparently so did Sherlock. So why was she not included?_

The pathologist heaved a sigh, reminding herself that now wasn't the time to sulk. Besides, she had a mystery of her own to solve with the man she was presently dating. And his tapping foot wasn't helping matters.

Although he was unaware of this nervous habit, Molly was a bit put off. "I have to use the ladies." She interjected, trying to buy some time to find out what was going on. "I'll be with you in a bit. Promise."

"Well, be quick about it." Ethan groused. "I don't know anyone here and you know how I hate being left alone amongst strangers."

"I'll only be a minute." The pathologist promised.

 _There was that Cheshire grin again_. Ethan's face changed completely, and so did his tone.

"Go ahead and freshen up, then!" He smiled. "I dare say you'll want to look your best as it's going to be a night you'll remember for years to come."

"What are you up to? You're not yourself." Molly worried.

"I assure you I am more myself than I have ever been." He vowed – tightening his grip on her wrist as he pulled her in for a very public display of affection. Finding herself wrapped in his tight embrace, Molly kissed him back just as passionately as he kissed her, wishing he could be this way all the time.

Finally she had to pull away, sweetly chiding him. "You'll have to let me go, if you don't want to be late for the festivities."

"What if I don't want to let you go?" Ethan demanded, nuzzling her neck. The man was acting even more possessive than usual, and it was quite unnerving.

"I'll suppose I'll just have to endure it." Molly joked, allowing him to go in for one more kiss before firmly leaving him behind. Still giddy from all the affection, she put on a bright smile and tried to ignore how unnerving it was to feel his eyes on her up until the very moment the bathroom door closed behind her.

Once Molly entered the ladies room, she headed straight for the mirrors to cake on even more make up than usual. The black eye she'd sustained during their fight was barely noticeable now. But after another round of foundation, eye shadow, and lipstick, she still didn't feel well enough to brave the crowds again. Or Ethan.

She'd managed to give him the slip while taking the long way to the loo. However, she still hadn't seen any sign of the wedding party. Instead of going back out to look again, she decided to hole herself up in the furthest stall. After pulling the top of the toilet lid down, and settling herself awkwardly over the seat, it didn't take long for the tears to sting her eyes. Though, seeing as how she'd just put on a fresh face, she refused to let them fall.

She planned to just sit for a bit, until her breathing evened out. However, fate had other plans. For just as she was beginning to calm down, the door to the ladies room opened, letting in a couple of silly bridesmaids who were all aflutter over a certain handsome detective.

Molly cursed her luck, and instantly wished she hadn't stayed around to witness their conversation.

"Oh Janine! You're the luckiest woman in the world!" One of them gushed. "John's best man is so handsome, I could die just looking at him. How ever can you stand it?"

"Aye. Sherl is right handsome. In fact, I think he rather fancies me. Guess I'm not such a bad looker myself." The Scotswoman bragged.

"Sherl? You mean SHERLOCK?" Bridesmaid number two interrupted. "As in THE SHERLOCK HOLMES?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" Janine laughed. "After that rousing speech about murders, I should think it would be perfectly obvious."

"Well, some of us are less observant than others." The same bridesmaid laughed. "That must be why he fancies you. Because you notice things that the rest of us overlook.

"Only in men." Janine winked.

"So tell us what he's like then!" They squealed in unison.

"I dunno." The Scotswoman stalled. "Things are going so well..."

"Oh but you have to tell us! We won't tell a soul!"

"I want to but…OH!...Alright! But you can't say anything." Janine warned. "Well! When Mary was planning the wedding, she told me all about John's best friend and best man, but she never mentioned his name. So imagine my surprise when we get to the chapel for rehearsal and I find out he's none other than The Great Mister Sherlock Holmes. We hadn't known each other an hour when he suggested switching phone numbers. Purely for business is what he said, but you know how men are. He said he wanted to coordinate the bride and groom's movements, but I doubt he even remembers that flimsy excuse. He's called me twice since. And today…oh today! He's only had eyes for me."

"How can you be sure?" Bridesmaid number two breathed.

"Oh you should have heard him comparing himself with the other men. Everyone he introduced me to had some sort of glaring fault. Oh, but not him! I think he wanted to nix the competition."

"How romantic!" They gushed. "Are you going to see him after the wedding?"

"If it all goes right. He has my number and I know where he lives." She grinned, letting out a sigh at the same time. "He really is the perfect gentlemen. Once you look past his demeanor, that is."

"I bet that's just him playing hard to get."

"Maybe! But two can play at that game." Janine mused, letting out a gasp. "Oh my! Look at the time. I'll be late for the first dance. Let me touch up my make up, and then go. You know, you can tell a lot about a man by the way he dances...how he holds a lady…"

Without another thought, the gaggling group of Bridesmaids followed their leader out the door, continuing to gossip as the door swung shut, leaving Molly alone once again.

The poor pathologist was more confused than ever. _Did she misread Sherlock's speech? Was he even talking about her at all? Or was he addressing this new woman?_

 _Janine? Was that her name?_

Of course Sherlock was free to see whomever he wished, but she never thought he'd be brave enough to actually attempt it. He may have no intention of interfering with her relationship, but how could he move on so quickly? And with someone so completely different?

 _There wasn't a scientific bone in that airhead's body! What in Heaven's name was Sherlock even thinking? What in Heaven's name was SHE thinking?_

 _OH! To hell with him._

She had a wonderful boyfriend who had just kissed the living daylights out of her not five minutes ago. Sherlock could kiss her ass. Literally

She had a date to get back to.

.


	6. Photograph

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the characters. Mark Gattis, Steven Moffat, and the BBC own the rights to Sherlock, the series. So don't sue.**

 **Song Suggestion: Def Leppard - Photograph**

* * *

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his "date" made her way back to him, practically skipping with exuberance. Although, he'd just solved one case, he knew that another was only just beginning, and he'd better make ready if things were to go as planned.

Putting on a welcoming face, he embraced his partner for the evening with what he could only hope was encouragement.

"Care to dance?" He parlayed, not bothering to hide his piqued interest.

"I'd luv too." His maid of honor gushed, clearly enamored.

It only took three quick steps into the waltz before Sherlock realized exactly what he had gotten himself into.

His partner stopped just short of dancing on his feet. The woman had no rhythm at all. In fact, what she needed was to let him lead. He just had to find some non-invasive way of telling her that.

"And one, two, three…one, two three…" Sherlock coached, trying to find the words to show her that her dancing skills left much to be desired. Finally, he settled on casual correction.

"Mmm…yeah…pretty good…just hold your nerve when you're turning." He mumbled, resisting the urge to lecture further. The look on her face was downright annoying as she clearly worshipped the ground he walked on.

"Why do we have to rehearse?" Janine pouted, unused to being critiqued on anything by a man.

"Because we are about to dance together in public and your skills are appalling." Sherlock blurted out, unable to stop himself. He clearly wasn't used to having to explain himself to the opposite sex any more than she was.

"Well you're a good teacher." Janine smiled, hoping to win a few brownie points by stroking his ego. "And you're a brilliant dancer."

 _Okay, this woman is definitely flirting…_ Sherlock thought. No one had ever seen him do so much as a pirouette before, and a good teacher he was not. Too impatient for that sort of torture, he was. Still, he had to play the game.

"I'll let you in on something Janine."

"Go on, then." She urged, anticipating a declaration of some kind.

"I love…" One look at her face, though, and he changed his mindl, not wanting to seem too eager. " **dancing**. I've always loved dancing."

"Seriously?" She joked. That definitely wasn't what she was wanted to hear given the circumstances.

Sherlock tried again. This time, thinking of something to make her feel a bit closer to him. _True, no one had ever seen him pirouette before. Perhaps there was a first time for everything..._ He thought, hoping that would reel her in.

"Watch out." He warned, taking center stage on the floor. His execution was flawless.

"Oh my!" The Irishwoman applauded.

"It never really comes up in crime work." He confessed, seemingly confiding in her. "I live in hope for the right case…"

Whatever he was aiming for, made the target.

Janine sidled up to him, closing the gap between their bodies. All the while studying his face for something they both knew she wouldn't see.

"I wish you weren't…" She began - unable to finish her sentence without tearing up a bit. "…whatever it is you are."

"I know." Sherlock concluded, with just enough of a smile to be sincere.

That would have been the end of it too, had John not come with a perfectly timed interruption….

An interruption Sherlock was banking on.

He was playing hard to get, after all.

"Well!" John applauded. "Glad to see you've pulled it off again! What with murderers running riot at my wedding."

"One murderer! One **near** murderer. He loves to exaggerate." The detective joked to his female companion, lightening the mood and establishing an easy friendship of sorts. "You should try living with him."

"Sherlock?" Lestrade announced, killing the mood as he came charging into the room. "Got him for ya!"

"Ah the photographer. Excellent!" Sherlock saluted, grateful for the distraction (unlike his female counterpart.) "May I have a look at your camera?"

"What's this about?" The man questioned. "I was halfway home."

Sherlock ignored him. "Ah yes! **Yes.** Very good. There, you see? "Perfect!"

Everyone stared, waiting for the explanation that never came.

"What is it?" Lestrade demanded. "Are you even going to tell us?"

"Try looking yourself." Sherlock answered flippantly, tossing him the camera.

"For what? Is the murderer in these photographs?" John appealed.

"It's not what's in the photographs." Sherlock bit out. "It's what's **not** in them. Not in any of them."

"Sherlock?" John admonished, trying to keep his cool. "The showing off thing? We've discussed it before."

"There is always one man…" Sherlock relented. "at a wedding, who is not in any photographs. He can go anywhere. He can even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes. And you never even see his face. You only ever see: the camera."

Quick as a flash, Sherlock swung a pair of handcuffs on the unsuspecting man.

"What are you doing? What is this?" He uttered, completely stupified.

Once the detective started talking though, he could no longer feign innocence.

"Meet Jonothan Small: today's substitute wedding photographer. Known only to us as 'the Mayfly Man'. Indeed, his brother was one of the raw recruits killed in the incursion led by Major Sholto. So of course, Mr. Jonny here sought revenge. He worked his way through Sholto's staff, and found exactly the ticket he needed: a wedding invitation. It was the one time Sholto would have to be in public. So he made his plan, rehearsing the murder and making sure of every last detail. When the day finally comes, he asks Major Sholto to pose for the camera - and seeing his chance - moves him into place only to push the blade in. Brilliant, ruthless, and almost certainly the work of a monomaniac. Though in fairness his photographs are actually quite good."

"Everything you need is on that." Sherlock finished, tossing Small's phone to Lestrade. "You probably ought to arrest him or something." He suggested, as Lestrade looked on in disbelief.

"Do you always carry handcuffs?" Janine whispered, uping the ante a bit.

"Down girl." Sherlock replied back, deciding this flirting thing wasn't so hard after all.

There was one thing, though, that seemed a bit out of place. A Bridesmaid. One of the wedding party, sitting in the next room, laughing casually on her cell phone. No doubt she had probably heard all that had taken place. He wouldn't be surprised if it ended up in the papers by the morrow.

At any rate, he didn't get long to ponder this as Mary came streaming down the corridor in her flowing white gown.

"John! Come on quick!" She cried. "We'll be late for the first dance!" Upon saying this, the blushing bride grabbed the hand of the groom and the two made off at a rapid pace towards the ballroom.

Pretty soon, it was just Jonothan Small and Sherlock left alone with Lestrade and Janine.

"It's not me you should be arresting Mr. Holmes!" The ex-soldier exclaimed. "It's SHOLTO! He's the killer! NOT ME!"

"Oh I don't do the arresting." The detective quipped, dismissing the poor sod into the care of Lestrade. "I just farm that out."

The only other action he took was to command Janine by the elbow, and stroll arm and arm with her down the aisle to the ballroom. Joining the happy newlyweds just in time for the first dance.


End file.
